


Nothing Fucks With My Baby

by RedWolf (ninenineandgoseek)



Series: That's the Kind of Love (I've Been Dreaming Of) [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hozier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-28 23:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30147240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninenineandgoseek/pseuds/RedWolf
Summary: "I love that girl. I would kill for her."In which Shae protects her lady love.
Relationships: Oberyn Martell/Sansa Stark, Shae/Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Shae
Series: That's the Kind of Love (I've Been Dreaming Of) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2220255
Comments: 11
Kudos: 48





	Nothing Fucks With My Baby

**Author's Note:**

> For purposes of this fic, Sansa and Tyrion were married a year before the Purple Wedding. Sansa is currently 15, and Shae is 17.

_When I first saw you_

_The end was soon_

_To Bethlehem it slouched_

_And then it must've caught a good look at you_

Shae was not sure when Sansa went from being her Lady to being her mistress. Tyrion was the one who brought Shae to this wretched place, this city of hatred and secrets, where the sewage seeped into the ground as surely it seeped into the veins of the highborn, but Sansa was the one who kept her here.

Perhaps it was when Sansa made excuses for Shae's ineptitude as a maid, covering for Shae's mistakes by claiming that Sansa had stupidly given Shae poor directions. Perhaps it was when she followed Sansa every day, seeing the sweetness of her heart and the sadness of her soul. Perhaps it was when Sansa played her game of stories, and wove a tale where Shae was a fair maiden, stolen at birth and given to a lowly family, awaiting the day when her true love would reveal her and take her away from all her cares.

Perhaps it was ten minutes ago, when Tyrion ordered Sansa to strip naked, not realizing Shae was still within earshot, tidying her lady's things in the side chamber.

"I've waited," Tyrion said venomously, "nigh on a year, my _lady wife_. I have been patient, I have been kind, and yet still your cunt remains as cold as the damn Wall you Northerners are so proud of."

"My lord," Sansa's voice was even, yet Shae could hear the trembling she worked so hard to hide, "my lord, you are drunk."

Tyrion laughed bitterly.

"What is there to do but drink? My father refuses to give me any command, any purpose, beyond being silent and preserving the dignity of the Lannister name. Just today he reminded me that I could be Lord of Winterfell, as soon as I put a babe in your belly," Tyrion continued.

"A Lannister will _never_ be Lord of Winterfell," Sansa replied, her voice low yet full of steel. Shae heard a slap ring out, and made her decision.

"Oh, my lady, I've arranged- pardon, my lord," Shae dipped into her lowest curtsy, pretending she had heard nothing. Tyrion clutched a goblet of wine, his trousers unlaced and his expression hard. Sansa knelt before him, naked, her cheek burning red where Tyrion had struck her.

"Do you know something, lady wife?" Tyrion said, hiccupping slightly. "Do you know what your maid is?"

"I do not, my lord, surely she is just a maid," Sansa replied evenly. Despite her submissive tone, her eyes glowed, and Shae could have sworn she heard the echoing howl of wolves. Tyrion laughed cruelly.

"She is no maid. She is a whore, she is _my_ whore. I placed her here, for you were too stupid to know the difference. I have been fucking her this past year every time you refuse me."

Sansa curtsied, despite her nudity and her position kneeling on the floor. She was graceful, even now. Her beautiful lady.

"It is none of my business, my lord," Sansa said softly, her head bowed.

"Fuck your courtesies," Tyrion snarled. "Not even a hint of jealousy? No anger that I foisted my whore on you, that she shadows your every step?"

"My lord," Shae said, warming her voice with every trick she knew, tilting her hips and straightening her back so her teats appeared at their best, "my lord, why fuss over a cold girl too stupid to realize what she is missing? She does not even know how to please a man."

Tyrion gulped his wine, sloshing it over the rim and onto his tunic. His trousers had begun to droop, exposing his erection. Sansa was very carefully studying the wall, not Tyrion. Her red hair flowed down her back like a flame, her blue eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her sweet mistress who wept for the fates of orphans, who gave her few spare coppers to the beggars, who prayed for her dead family every day, did not deserve this. Sansa was _hers_ , and if no one else would defend her, then Shae would.

_Give your heart and soul to charity_

_'Cause the rest of you_

_The best of you_

_Honey, belongs to me_

"My lord, may I fetch you more wine? Perhaps I could show your little wife how to please you," Shae coaxed. "Perhaps the guidance of another woman would warm her cold blood."

Sansa looked terrified, her eyes wide as she bit her lip. The moment Tyrion turned to look at Sansa, Shae shook her head just the smallest bit.

 _I will protect you_ , Shae mouthed silently. Sansa looked into Shae's eyes for a moment, then nodded at Tyrion.

"I should be glad to watch, my lord," Sansa said, "I am but a silly girl, a maiden. I have been tutored in sewing, in the high harp, in singing and dancing, but no one has tutored me in how to please a husband." She clasped her hands in front of her maiden’s place, her cheeks flushing a deep pink.

"Why not?" Tyrion hiccupped. "That would be a sight to make old Ned roll in his grave. His daughter watching a whore pleasure the Imp. Damn you, get me more wine," Tyrion said, turning to Shae.

_Ain't it a gentle sound, the rollin' in the graves?_

_Ain't it like thunder under earth, the sound it makes?_

_Ain't it exciting you, the rumble where you lay?_

_Ain't you my baby? ain't you my baby?_

Shae fetched more wine from Tyrion's chamber, but she also fetched something of her own. Some weeks back, Shae had found a Lorathi merchant in the marketplace. He had Lorathi liquor for sale, something Shae had not had in years, and Shae had purchased several small bottles.

Lorathi liquor was colorless, flavorless, but just a dram of liquor in a glass of fruit juice was enough to get anyone drunk. Shae had seen men lying dead in Lorathi inns as a child, dead from drinking too much of the liquor in one night. It was certainly not meant to be poured into Dornish strongwine.

Tyrion could easily drink several bottles of wine, when a sour mood hit him. Shae carefully opened three bottles of Dornish strongwine, pouring half of each bottle down the privy. She then poured in the Lorathi liquor. The strongwine was paler, but with dim lighting and Tyrion's already inebriated state, Shae did not think he would notice.

A dull rumble of thunder rolled over the keep, and Shae glanced up. She did not fear any gods, Old or New, Lorathi or otherwise. She feared what Tyrion might do to her mistress.

Her mistress, with her pale back already covered in Lannister scars. Her mistress, who hid her full breasts as much as she could. Her mistress, who only relaxed, who only breathed freely, when Shae brushed her hair every morning and night, lightly scratching Sansa's scalp, massaging her shoulders, soothing the dull scars of her nightmares and the fresh wounds of each day.

Shae quickly returned to Sansa's chambers. Sansa was still naked, shivering in the drafty cold. Tyrion was drunkenly rambling, talking about how he could be a good lover, how he had protected her from Joffrey, how Sansa owed him for waiting so long.

"You might hate me, but you'd love our child," Tyrion slurred. "Maybe it'd look like you, or your father, or that hellraiser of a sister that disappeared."

Sansa's eyes blazed, and Shae could almost read her mind. Sansa would kill any Lannister seed with moon tea before she let it take root.

"Wine, milord?" Shae asked, purring as she held out the bottles, bending slightly so her cleavage was at Tyrion's eye level. Tyrion stared at her tits and held out his goblet.

"Quick about it," Tyrion said. "I may not be Lord of Casterly Rock, but I am the lord in these chambers."

Shae nodded, smiling, and poured the goblet full to the brim.

 _Drink up, my lord,_ Shae thought, as she slipped off her dress. _I might have loved you, once. Before you took a child to wife. Before you shamed her for mourning her dead family. Before she showed me how hollow your kindness is, how deep the rot in your family has poisoned you._

"Shall I begin on my knees, my lord?" Shae asked with a wink, now fully nude.

She cupped her breasts, rolling the nipples just how Tyrion liked. Tyrion drained his goblet of wine and held it out for more. Sansa watched, clearly thinking hard under the mask of maidenly shyness she had put on. Shae poured more wine.

"Get on with it," Tyrion said, gulping his wine. Shae stepped forward, allowing herself a brief glance at Sansa. Sansa hadn't dared cover herself, and was kneeling in front of the bed, her pale skin glowing in the firelight, red curls covering her maiden's place. 

"Perhaps I should have you fuck her," Tyrion laughed bitterly. "Perhaps that would warm her up. Wife, go kiss my whore."

Sansa rose to her feet and stepped forward, approaching Shae hesitantly. Sometimes Shae forgot how tall Sansa was, despite being a few years younger than Shae. She held a hand out to Shae's cheek, sliding her hand into Shae's dark hair as she leaned down.

Shae stepped on her tip toes, accepting the tentative kiss. Sansa's mouth was warm and gentle, but her movements were uncertain. Shae guided her, coaxing Sansa to open her mouth. Sansa yielded, and Shae slipped her tongue in Sansa's mouth, caressing Sansa's tongue until she gave the softest, sweetest moan.

Tyrion's bitter laugh broke the silence.

"Shae, show her what the lord's kiss is. Maybe that ice will melt enough for me to get inside her." Tyrion slurred.

"Your pleasure comes first, my lord," Shae said smoothly, dropping to her knees before Tyrion and lowering her mouth to Tyrion's cock. The task was familiar, and Shae set to work, alternating between her hands and her mouth, occasionally taking a glimpse at Sansa.

"More wine, my lord?" Sansa asked softly, bringing over the bottle Shae had set aside. Her breasts swayed a little, the pretty pink nipples hard in the cold air.

"I'm not even finished with this glass," Tyrion said, laughing. "Was this all it took to make you useful? A kiss from a whore and watching a whore suck me off?" He gulped the remainder of his goblet, and held it out for more. Sansa poured carefully.

"She's not a whore, she's a lady," Shae heard Sansa mutter under her breath. Tyrion almost spit out his wine as he laughed.

"And I'm the knight of flowers," Tyrion guffawed before taking another drink. The tips of his fingers were beginning to go blue, his erection flagging despite Shae's sucking.

"Of course, my lord," Sansa said, curtsying with the bottle held up as though it were the train of her skirt.

Her tone was sweet, but Shae could feel the fury underneath. Did Tyrion sense it too, or was he too drunk? Or perhaps it was a fury only another woman could sense, one who had been given a bitter cup and forced to drink it until she choked. But after tonight she and Sansa would not choke on that cup anymore.

_Nothing fucks with my baby_

_Nothing can get a look in on my baby_

_Nothing fucks with my baby_

_Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing_

Tyrion vomited once, before the end, drunker than Shae had ever seen him. Sansa had soothed him, asking if my lord would like more wine, to wash away the taste of sick. Tyrion drank again, and then he drank no more.

Sansa's eyes were hard as she looked at Tyrion's body. He was half naked, his neck and chest covered with vomit.

"Did you have a plan for what happens next?" Sansa asked quietly, reaching out to Shae. Shae clasped Sansa's hand, unbothered by how cold it was.

"I did not, my lady."

"I meant what I said," Sansa said suddenly. "You are a lady, no, a knight. For knights are supposed to protect the helpless, and you have done more to protect me than any _Ser_ in this cursed place."

"I am a whore," Shae replied. Sansa looked at her, blue eyes thoughtful.

"You are both. I was told many foolish things as a girl, but I think the most foolish thing I was told was that highborn were noble and lowborn were not."

Shae almost laughed. Sansa was still a girl, yet not. Few women had endured what she had. The last of her House, raised on tales of gallant knights and gentle husbands, forced to watch her father lose his head, forced to strip for the court and take beatings from the illustrious Kingsguard, forced to wed a man twice her age whose family murdered hers.

"No one will question my lord's death. He drank more than a garrison of soldiers," Sansa said. "But we must act quickly, for he shall be found in the morning when the kitchen maids come to set the fires."

"I would see you safe, my lady," Shae said gently, handing Sansa a robe to cover her nakedness.

"I cannot flee alone," Sansa said. "Perhaps if we had my sister, if she still lives, but neither of us can use a sword or bow, neither to protect ourselves nor to kill game."

"We?" Shae asked. Sansa turned, her blue eyes reflecting the flames of the dying fire.

"I would not leave you in this place," Sansa said, the steel returning to her voice. "Not unless you wish to remain?"

Shae shook her head.

"We must think, and think quickly. We will need protectors of some kind, someone who wants my claim but will not abuse me for it. I do not trust the Tyrells, not with Margaery set to marry the King so soon," Sansa said, thinking aloud.

"Someone told the Lannisters when they planned to marry you to Willas," Shae said. Sansa nodded, thinking.

"Who in King's Landing hates the Lannisters the most?" Sansa pondered. "Nearly every Great House is here for the king's wedding next week."

Shae began thinking, pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

"Tyrion mentioned an incident the other day," Shae said slowly. "A Lannister was stabbed in a brothel in front of Tyrion by a noble newly come to the city. The Lannister nearly bled out."

"Did Tyrion say the man's name?" Sansa asked urgently. Shae shook her head.

"No, only that he wasn't surprised a viper would strike so quickly." Sansa leapt to her feet, her face red with excitement.

"Oberyn Martell. Of course, _of course_." Sansa paced with Shae, their steps falling into the same rhythm.

"The Martells rule Dorne," Sansa explained, taking Shae's hand in her own, as though there was nothing more natural. "Oberyn is the second son. His sister, Elia, married Rhaegar Targaryen. The Lannisters had her and her babies killed," Sansa said. Shae raised an eyebrow.

"How does my lady know of such violence?" Shae asked. Sansa had grown up on tales of knights and maidens, not babes murdered with their mother. Sansa turned red.

"I listen, when I am embroidering, when I am walking. I listen at doors when no one is near. I've heard Tyrion complain about how much the Dornish hate him, when he had no part in their loss. The ladies of the court gossip about Prince Oberyn, about his affairs, his bastard paramour, his rage for his dead sister." Sansa said.

Shae thought she was done underestimating her mistress, but she had been wrong.

"How shall we convince the Dornish to help you?" Shae asked. Sansa thought for some time before she responded.

"I do not trust the honor of men. Father said the Dornish were passionate but fair, but father died for his honor. The Dornish are staying outside the Red Keep- could you get a letter to them and be back again by sunrise?" Sansa asked.

Shae thought. She had explored the passages of the Red Keep. There were many servant tunnels, dusty and forgotten. A few of them led outside the castle walls.

"I think so, but you will need to write quickly," Shae said. Sansa nodded.

_If I was born as a blackthorn tree_

_I'd wanna be felled by you_

_Held by you_

_Fuel the pyre of your enemies_

"Is this a jest?" The Dornish servant asked, cracking the door only the slightest bit. Shae regretted her decision to wear whore's garb. While it had made it easier to escape notice on her way here, the servant did not believe that she was a maid delivering a message.

"It is no jest. I come on behalf of the Lady of Winterfell, and you will let me in this instant," Shae growled. "Your master can have _me_ whipped if I lie, or he can have _you_ whipped if he misses an urgent message."

The servant cracked the door open slightly further, and Shae shoved her way inside.

"You can't-" the servant said, right before Shae kneed him in the jewels. He doubled up, gasping for air.

"Sorry," Shae said, stepping over him. She had better find the Prince's quarters quickly, or she'd be killed as an intruder before she could deliver her lady's message.

Fortunately, the rented mansion had a simple layout. Shae stole along the wall, making her way to the area most likely to have sleeping quarters. She found what looked like the largest door, and clasped the handle.

"Why is a whore breaking into my prince's bedroom?" A soft female voice asked. There was a jeweled dagger at Shae's throat, held by a woman with dark eyes and golden skin.

"I come bearing a message from the Lady of Winterfell," Shae said, trying to keep her composure. "I am her maid." The woman laughed, keeping the knife at Shae's throat.

"Lady Lannister?" She replied. "We do not trust your lions."

"She is a widow, and she is Lady Stark," Shae snarled, feeling the blade press against her pulse. She had killed for Sansa, and if need be, she would die for her.

"My love, surely we should listen before killing a pretty girl, whether she is a whore or a lady's maid. Especially when she claims Lord Tyrion is dead, though I saw him lively enough earlier this evening." The man's voice was smooth but deadly as the Dornish man stepped out from behind the door.

He wore naught but a silk robe over his muscular body. The robe was finely embroidered, showing his high rank. He had to be six feet tall or more, his dark hair rumpled but his eyes wide awake and piercing.

"I am Prince Oberyn Martell," the man said. "What is this message?"

_Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames?_

_Ain't it the life you, you're lighting of the blaze?_

_Ain't it a waste they'd watch the throwing of the shade?_

_Ain't you my baby? ain't you my babe?_

Shae returned just before sunrise, bearing Prince Oberyn's response. They did not dare move Tyrion's body for fear of causing suspicion, so Shae returned to her sleeping quarters, and Sansa put on her nightgown and got into bed. No one would doubt Tyrion wandering into Sansa's chambers while drunk and then collapsing there.

Thankfully Sansa had remembered to have Shae empty the remaining Dornish strongwine laced with Lorathi liquor. Shae poured it down the privy, then put the empty bottle in Tyrion's room, along with several other empty bottles she had poured down the privy.

A kitchen maid found Tyrion's body when she came in to light the fires, her shriek waking half the castle. Shae came running, as would be expected, and she held Sansa as she wept. Shae wondered what Sansa thought of, to make herself weep so long and so loud. Her parents? Her siblings? All of them? When Tywin Lannister appeared, Sansa was still in her nightgown and robe, weeping in Shae's arms.

"Be quiet, girl," Tyrion's father snapped, as though some other corpse lay before him instead of his son. Sansa hiccupped, suppressing her tears. Shae dabbed at her lady's eyes.

"A disgrace to the last," Tywin muttered. "I don't suppose he had the decency to give you an heir before he expired?" Tywin snapped, looking at Sansa.

Sansa hiccupped again, as though she were a distraught young wife, not the accomplice to her husband's murder.

"No, my lord," Sansa stammered, keeping her eyes downcast. "I bled last week."

"Useless," Tywin said. Shae wasn't sure if he was referring to Sansa or Tyrion, but either way, she despised the man. Tyrion may have been rotten, but the source of the rot stood before her.

_Nothing fucks with my baby_

_Nothing can get a look in on my baby_

_Nothing fucks with my baby_

_Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing_

Prince Oberyn waited three days, as Sansa had requested, before demanding that Lady Stark come before the Small Council. Sansa told her how it had gone as Shae took her hair down for the evening, removing all the pins and bands that chained the flaming locks.

Prince Oberyn had begun by laughing at Tyrion for failing to impregnate Sansa. He had reminded everyone present of how Sansa's mother had borne five children. He had sighed and lamented that his brother pestered him to wed a highborn lady.

"Most highborn fathers would refuse to give me their daughters," Oberyn had said, following the words Sansa had suggested, "for I will not give up my paramour and my bastards. But this highborn lady has no father to object, and I am curious to see how cold winter can get in the North. I have not tried Northern women before- I wonder if Northern whores are even more passionate, to keep the cold at bay?"

Sansa had wept at that, had begged King Joffrey not to give her a Dornish husband, a husband with a paramour and eight bastards.

"Please," she had begged, " _please_ , your grace, I had rather be your mistress than a Dornishman's wife."

Shae wondered if Sansa had known the risk she was taking, making such an offer to the cruel boy king. But it had worked. He had laughed at Sansa's tears, and given her away freely. He found the business so amusing, so delightful, that he had ordered they be wed the day before his own wedding.

"Prince Oberyn agreed, but he demanded that we leave the morning of the wedding, lest I attempt to whore myself to the King on his wedding night," Sansa confided, almost giddy. They would be gone from King’s Landing before the week was out. 

"Prince Oberyn is as old as your father was, is he not?" Shae asked, gently drawing the brush through Sansa's gleaming hair.

"He is. And he has a paramour and eight bastards, surely. But he despises the Lannisters, and that is enough to begin," Sansa said. Shae paused, feeling the thick, silky hair flow over her fingers.

"I told him I would not leave you," Shae said suddenly. Sansa stilled, then turned her head, her blue eyes wide.

"I may not be a true lady's maid, but I am yours," Shae said, her heartbeat throbbing in her ears. Sansa gazed at her for a moment.

"What did he say?" Sansa asked softly.

"He said that he admires loyalty, and then he asked me about your time here at court. I told him everything, my lady," Shae said defiantly.

She had wanted to see his face when he learned how the Lannisters had treated her sweet lady. She had wanted to see if he could be trusted to get her lady away from this wretched place. Shae did not trust any man, no matter how much he hated the Lannisters. Sansa exhaled slowly, reaching up to take Shae's hand, as though she needed comfort to hear what came next.

"How did he react?" Sansa asked, looking up at Shae.

"He was silent, at first. The more I spoke of your mistreatment, the angrier he became. By the end he was shouting, and his mistress had to calm him down," Shae said, relishing his fury on Sansa's behalf.

"Call her Lady Ellaria," Sansa said. "We will win no friends by showing her anything less than the utmost respect. She mothered four of his children," Sansa said. Shae frowned.

"She is not a lady," Shae said. Sansa gazed at Shae, her blue eyes filled with a new warmth.

"And you are no Ser, yet I would rather have another kiss from you than from Aemon the Dragonknight," Sansa whispered. "Prince Oberyn will not object, his paramour has her own affairs, I've heard it said by everyone."

Shae bent her head to Sansa, capturing her lady's mouth in a kiss. She would follow her lady, whether to Dorne or to the North. She would be her knight and lady love both. She would teach Sansa how to find her own pleasure, and how to give Shae pleasure in return.

And she would watch to ensure that the Prince held up his part of the bargain. If not, Shae would see him dead.

_Nothing fucks with my baby_

_Nothing can get a look in on my baby_

_Nothing fucks with my baby_

_Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing_

_Nothing fucks with my baby_

_Nothing can get a look in on my baby_

_Nothing fucks with my baby_

_Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments much appreciated. This is a oneshot, I'm on a women protecting women kick. Lorathi liquor is basically Everclear, it can cause alcohol poisoning even in small amounts.


End file.
